


Deathwalker

by Sporadicx



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 999 inspired, Almyra Feature, And so does Claude, Character Study, Claudeth naturally, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Future Sight Claude, It's going to be so wrong before it's right, Messing with timelines and Divine Pulse, Petition to get this man a crystal ball, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn, Sothis Has a Plan, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sporadicx/pseuds/Sporadicx
Summary: He would walk across time to save her. He would walk across time to change the world."You saved me," she whispered.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	1. Prologue

_ And I soar up high into the haven _  
_ Of the starless night _  
_ Borne by black wings of dawn _  
_ I fly away from the bygone _  
_ As I crossed alone _  
_ The gold turned into dead stone _  
_ And I did not look back _  
_ Nor did I mourn _

* * *

The end had come.

Sothis closed her eyes. She would need rest, after this moment in her time. There was no removing her daughter's wails, as she locked her away in the Holy Tomb. Seiros was beginning to reach to her own power, and Sothis could not bear to see her use it here.

_Agartha._

Such insolence. Such arrogance. And yet...

Sothis' bare feet sunk into the rich soil of southern Fodlan, knowing that crops would not shoot up in her place. Too much blood had been spilled here, the ground ripped up from stomping feet and deadly steel. She had seen it, after all. Sothis knew what was to come. She was the beginning. And this battle was the end.

She bent to her knees, clasped her hands together, and began to pray.

She sent out a call to all life, the trees and the birds and the deer and the forests and the sea. She cried out to her blood, the Nabateans, all who could hear. The enemy began to emerge above the hill, magic not of this world sparking at their fingertips and weapons augmented with cruelty and death. A misuse of her gifts, a sight that always made Sothis turn inward.

_No one should have this power._

She was the Goddess. She was the hope of so many people. And she was so, so tired.

Someone like her was not meant to walk the earth, to walk among the people of Fodlan. She could see that now.

Her hands began to glow in the thick of the night, hurting her eyes and revealing her location. No matter. That was the point.

She began to hear the crest of wings above her, their scales whipping through the air like an axe through the bark of a tree. She would need her children. They were as powerless to stop humanity as she was, but she needed them for her plan.

She channeled herself inward, until the grass scratching at her knees and the chill on her bare shoulders began to dissipate. A numbness folded over her, like a frozen dream, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The light in her hands intensified until she could see the sun behind her closed eyelids. She slumped.

Sothis was gone before she hit the ground.

* * *

The Nabateans would find their goddess on the ground. They would retreat with her prone body, accepting casualties from the Agarthans as they did so. These people used technology forged from the progenitor god's gift, and turned it against their children.

Such was the gluttony, the pride, the greed of humans.

Sothis was not yet dead, although she soon would be. She had seen it, after all, as clearly as she saw the sun set in the place that would, one day, be called Gronder Field. With all of her strength, she sent her consciousness forward in time.

She was the beginning. She was the _beginning._

When the world stopped spinning, even in her other form, the first sensation she noticed was blistering heat.

She could see through a pair of young eyes. The breaths she took were shallow and blunt. She did not feel pain, she couldn't in this state, but Sothis could detect the scent of blood.

_Seiros, what have you done?_

But that was wrong, too.

Her daughter was not here.

They were not born of endless sand dunes and brightly covered flags reflecting the glare in the distance. This was not her domain. This was _wrong._

Before she could panic, the girl she inhabited turned her head. Doing so, she met a pair of startling, verdant eyes.

The boy who possessed them had one arm reached toward her, struggling to reach her. Sothis softened, and she commanded the girl to reach out for him. Her tiny hand was streaked with blood. His was covered in cuts. The girl beneath Sothis swallowed, and then touched his skin.

Sothis felt it. She felt how all sensation narrowed to this touch, the way the world fell away. This would have to be enough. It had to be. She channeled all of her desperation, all of her grief, all of her hate in between their touch. She sighed in relief along with the girl when she was scooped up into strong arms, arms that she did not know but recognized as familiar and _home_ regardless, and looking over, the boy was collected by the people of the desert.

 _Gods are not meant to walk among men_ , she thought. _But perhaps this would be enough._

The boy still stared with an open kind of awareness. His eyes constantly shifted, unsettling behind so much forest green, not like the sea green of her people. He saw everything, with whirling calculation and insight unnatural in his age. Sothis knew this, as much as she knew the girl beneath her, a thoughtless, unfeeling void. A vessel for what was to come. But this girl struggled now, reaching towards the boy again.

 _You will not remember this,_ Sothis thought, and willed this towards the two of them. They stilled, listening, and with the last of her strength, Sothis sent her hope into the sky.

When she came back to herself, she was surrounded by stone. The Holy Tomb's smelled musty and damp, from where she lay in her slumber, but the wood ceiling shifted and gave way.

Fear hammered with her pulse.

Even though she knew, _she knew,_ she endured a childish hope that it was Seiros opening her tomb, some kind of divine intervention even on the Goddess's behalf. It was never meant to be.

A terrible face greeted her, with beady eyes and deep scars and grizzled skin. He held a dagger, which he held high above his head. The point aimed toward her chest.

_Farewell, my daughter._

How fitting that the end washed red and exploded like stars in the sky.

* * *

Khalid knew all too well he was lucky to be alive.

He knew his half-brothers, his cousins, the sons of the high priests could honey their words with rot, turn play into a dangerous game. He should had known that when the group of them ventured past the walls of their city, he would be far from any kind of help. The desert was relentless. It had no mercy for those lost, even less for those who did not belong.

He did fight back. Not much passed boy, even at ten years old. He knew how cruelty could spin in young minds; he could calculate how the differences between him and the rest would end in blood. It didn't stop him from noticing among them, either. Basir was shorter than the rest. Farrokh had a crooked nose, most likely from a fight. Shayan had speckles in his eyes. It did not matter. Khalid was the outsider.

A coward's son.

The thought of leaving the city with them, out in the dry wilderness, was naive, even deadly, but Khalid was not a coward. And he did not accept the terms of an outsider.

His knuckles split as they ganged up on him, lashing out with fists and teeth. He lost count of the black eyes he gave, the shouting of his conquerors. They left him in the sand, bleeding but breathing, and he began to laugh. He won. They could not leave him any less but intact, and whole. The world swam. The sun shone bright and noxious above him, and Khalid closed his eyes. The desert could take him, but not them. Never them.

His memory stopped there.

He knew he was rescued by his father's Immortal Corps, and rescue missions were generally not their task. It was because of them he now lay in bed, surrounded by oriental rugs with a plain white sheet spread over his small form. His mother sat on a chair beside him. She barked something in rough Almyran, the accent never being something she could master. She called for a servant.

Tea. Tea did sound nice.

"Mama, why were the Corps there?"

She sighed. "They had reports of targeted killings. There's a renowned mercenary from the west. They think it's him."

"From Fodlan?"

Tiana's mouth thinned, but her eyes softened. "Yes, sweeting. From Fodlan."

Khalid nodded, too tired to question much. One of the servants - a young woman with rare, kind eyes - set a cup of pine needle tea on the nightstand. She sipped at the cup, testing its heat, before nodding at him and set at her task of closing the drapes.

He wanted to tell her to stop. He loved the night sky. The stars were hard to see; Almyra took lighting the royal palace very seriously. Torches, paper lanterns, braziers, stained glass lit up from within. He once asked his father to turn off the lights of the palace for his birthday. He got laughter for his efforts, before a light tug on his hair.

"The light will keep you safe, my son," his father had told him from his perch on the ornate throne. "One day. One day, you will see."

At age ten, Khalid still didn't. But he did know that one star shone brighter than any other, and it was in the wrong place to be the North Star. In fact, he was quite certain he had never seen it before, and that, well, that was saying something. He would spend all night with the night sky if he could. It disappeared from the servant's work.

"Drink," his mother urged him. "You were out on the sands for so long."

Khalid reached for the cup, before the world whited out.

He blinked, and pieces of the room came back into focus. The rugs' colors shone dull in this new light, except for the red. Red, as vivid as blood. The silhouettes of his bed posts stood out like charcoal drawings. Overhead light... _overhead?_

Khalid wasn't in his own body.

He stared at the body that he knew, _he knew_ was his own. He lay with his head rolled to the side, blood pouring out of his mouth, green eyes staring at nothing...

He tried to wretch, but there was no stomach to pull from.

Then the edges of his universe blurred, and he was back in himself.

"Sweeting." His vision began to blur. "Sweeting, where did you go?"

 _Where did you go?_ It was his mother's question when he wasn't paying attention, when he was lost in his thoughts, staring into the distance at inopportune times. But this... this was different.

Khalid swept out his arm. The tea cup and saucer tipped onto the ground. The fragrance of pine filled the air as ceramic shattered and scattered across the floor.

"Khalid! What has gotten into you?"

Tiana shouted in Fodlanese, but her voice was muted compared to the roar in Khalid's ears. He trembled, holding his arms close to himself. He knew, but _how_?

His mother's scolding turned into a scream.

The servant Khalid always liked collapsed to the ground, clutching her throat. Her chest seized in caving, unnatural convulsions.

As the tea burned a score on the rug, Khalid thought of the star.


	2. Chapter 1

Claude knew the difference between the silence of the night and the silence of treachery.

He spent enough nights among the dunes at home, chin tilted upwards towards the shining sky, to know the comfort of the former. Long after Khalid the child let himself fall for such a simple ruse, Claude always went alone, letting only his mother and her guard know where he went. It was a time when no one's words or actions could reach him. He was not an outsider. He was no one of import, a concept that he too often reached for when the world seemed bleak.

But on this night on the outskirts of Remire Village, the quiet was unsettling.

Remire Village was small, but the sun had just set behind the hills. He knew from his father's touring of the villages in Almyra that people did not suddenly become meek and demure when daylight began to vanish. Inns still bustled with activity. Shopkeepers shooed away last minute customers. Families hurried home, some lingered along the dirt roads. Remire was like nothing he'd seen before. It wasn't just quiet, it was empty. Doors locked up tight, torches extinguished, not a sign of life to be seen.

The hairs on the back of Claude's neck stood on end.

Edelgard and Dimitri talked with their new professor behind him. Claude stared down the open doors of the village.

_Open._

"Hey, you three," Claude called. "Maybe cut the chatter."

They did not have time to reply.

An axe spun blade over handle, whistling past his face. Claude hissed and nocked an arrow; he heard the _ting_ of drawn blades, presumably from Dimitri and the professor. Edelgard... he could not make sense of Edelgard yet.

They didn't have time for that, anyway.

When his vision went white, he was ready for it.

He waited for it to come back into focus, with sharpened silhouettes and layered scenes like a kaleidoscope. He watched himself come face to face with a man with an axe, Dimitri and Edelgard fighting alongside him. It meant nothing. The element of surprise, something that Claude coveted on his own, was in the enemy's favor.

Claude didn't even flinch as he watched each of them fall, including himself. It was not his fate to die this way. He was anathema to time with this gift, a flimsy future he had seen over and over again. He was given the chance to pull the threads, and so he would.

The minute he settled back into his body, he fired a single arrow. Claude still had plenty to learn in the ways of archery, even with his years of practice, but it was not his intention to hit his target. The shaft sailed through the gathering crowd of the enemy and _thunked_ into a sapling at the edge of the woods.

Then he took off running in the opposite direction.

As he suspected, the bandits closest to him, phased off by the arrow, chased after him in full pursuit. A grin twisted one side of his mouth upwards, his blood roaring with adrenaline and heartbeat pumping in time with his footfalls. Claude looked over his shoulder to ensure they were following him, and he saw that poor professor running in a perpendicular direction, away from the entire situation. His grin soured. He was pretty sure this professor was supposed to teach his house.

Claude looked towards the bandits and cursed under his breath. Edelgard and Dimitri followed too... and brought the rest of the crowd with them.

Nothing to do, then.

Claude stopped and shot off multiple arrows. Edelgard and Dimitri did their part, at least, hacking into anyone that came too close. But it was a losing battle. The bandits knew this thick of the woods better than they; Claude knew from their easy steps and movements that this was home for a lot of them. And Remire Village...

Why _was_ it so quiet?

He changed direction and ran again, and he had a moment to process, with no shortage of ruefulness, that he was quite possibly the only living creature whose curiosity and instinct to survive ran concurrently.

The village remained empty as he scaled the pathetically short wall. No guards, no knights. It _was_ peculiar, and it made his blood run cold. None of this could be coincidence. It couldn't be. And there was no help to be found here. But...

There was this _pull._ As if he were following a line of thread, one that decided his direction. This scared him more than anything else.

Claude hated losing control.

But Edelgard and Dimitri were falling behind, and so was he. His muscles screamed with exertion, adrenaline turning into ache. They were running out of time.

Then he saw it. A house with the lights still on inside, surrounded by a heavy gate. Two bandits - no, _mercenaries -_ stood outside it. What were they doing? Did they not notice what happened around them?

"Who are you?" one of them demanded, his voice reminding Claude of oak trees. Too stiff for crafting a bow, blunt enough for staves. The Imperial princess and Kingdom prince slowed to a halt behind him. "State your business."

"Claude von Riegan," he responded easily, despite Edelgard and Dimitri's protests. They didn't know. They didn't know that names could exact a toll as much as cost one. "Hate to admit it, but we need your help."

Pull or not, there was no way to know what waited for him inside.

The Blade Breaker was the least surprising, moving with a heft that made oak look malleable. The blond braid nestled on his back made Claude reach for his own. But he froze when he saw the girl, and more specifically her eyes.

Cornflower eyes, the color of sky meeting the sun.

He felt something in his mouth, words of something different, something other, but he could not quite place them. She stared at him unblinkingly, without comprehension.

It did not feel like enough to merely reiterate his plea, that they needed help. It was all he had for them.

It took more effort than it should have to turn away from her.

* * *

Byleth fought with apathy and single minded ferocity in the same breath.

Claude could do little else except fire arrows over her head, which didn't even faze her. Dimitri kept looking back at him when Claude provided support, and Edelgard never lost that thin line of tension across her shoulders. But Byleth continued on like she was born in blood, something that unsettled Claude more than it should have.

He remembered the children he grew up with, after all.

Those kids constantly fought, showing their scraped knuckles and bruised eyes like medals of honor, and in Almyra, they were. Every single one of them turned out to be soldiers, the cruelest reaching stations of command. He escaped them every time.

But Byleth was something else. She fought like she never had a choice. More than that, she _protected._ She fought without a single regard for herself or her enemies, only the ones who wanted to remain with her. Claude remembered how she shifted towards her father.

But when she seemed to appear in front of Edelgard within the blink of an eye, landed a blow against the bandit's axe that sent it flying from his grip, Claude's eyes narrowed.

There was a vacuum. A splinter of time. But Claude's world didn't wash white, didn't show him a fractured future. It followed this girl like a shadow, and then it was gone.

_Who are you?_ he willed towards her. _Who are you?_

Just like a shadow, she could not answer.

All he knew was that he stopped whenever those eyes rested on him. Unblinking, unmoved. It was like Byleth could reach into his very soul and pluck out his secrets, his desires, everything that made Claude himself. He kept up his easy smile, but averted his eyes when he could.

She was an unknown variable, and that was dangerous.

Even more so when Edelgard and Dimitri fought for her affections, wowed by her for far different reasons than him. He interrupted them casually, because of course, her strength was something valuable. When they presented her with an option, he could tell Byleth chose from instinct rather than information.

And she chose Alliance.

His cheeks washed warm, and he could tell she was looking at him. That feeling remained as they approached Garreg Mach.

* * *

When they arrived, Byleth split off from the group with her father. They approached the cathedral, where Rhea stood waiting. The appearance of the Archbishop in the sun was supposed to be awe-inspiring, Claude knew, but Rhea's intentions eclipsed her form. Claude's distrust of her pulled at his throat every time he looked at her, and he knew that in this case, he and Edelgard were the same. Edelgard's lip seemed to curl every time.

He knew that he should go to Hilda first; she would be waiting. But Hilda was quite good at that, and she was always less than pleased to see him, for whatever reason. Instead, he slinked behind the walls as Byleth and Jeralt strode towards the Cathedral.

"Rhea," he heard Jeralt murmur.

Ah. So they knew each other. How?

Claude still felt that pull in his chest, one that began in Remire, like a compass. He still had questions about that village, how quiet it was. Why one house, one with the Blade Breaker and his daughter, was the only one that seemed to even be occupied.

He wished he could sneak back out, head back to the village. Ask questions that shouldn't be asked. This would just have to do. Claude took a single step out onto the long bridge leading to the Cathedral...

"Oh, Claude!"

Claude just managed to transform his growl into a hiss of breath. He turned, all smiles, and only the slightest bit of bodily harm on his mind.

Now that he thought about it, it _had_ been a while since he mixed up a good stomach poison.

"Manuela!" he said instead. "A sight for sore eyes."

"You flatterer, you." She waved her hand at him, but he could see the head physician's eyes flash at him. Gross. "I have news. About that young woman, in there."

The Cathedral doors opened with a gaping yawn, and then boomed shut like a clap of thunder. Claude held back a sigh.

Any information was better than nothing, and Manuela had a toll to pay.

"I'm listening," he said only, leaning against the wall. Affecting calm disinterest.

Manuela purred. "So, the new professor..."

* * *

When he strode back into the Golden Deer classroom, Hilda was talking Marianne's ear off.

Claude's choice as a retainer came to everyone as a shock, especially to Lorenz, and most of all to Hilda herself. It was rather obvious, Claude thought, if anyone bothered to look deep. Think about what was behind the mystery rather than just beholding it. But Claude knew the best disguise was in plain sight.

She chatted away, with the others lingering around her. Even Lorenz didn't realize Claude was right there, arms crossed, standing in the gaping doorway, although off to the side, close enough to see the blue of the next banner.

He stepped into the grass, leaving them to their discussions. He didn't have to talk with them to know what they were doing. Hilda would be dodging work, but coaxing life from Marianne. Lorenz would be ready with a lecture. Ignatz would have his nose in a book. Raphael was in the dining hall. Leonie would want to hunt down Jeralt. Later, he would recite their traits like an encyclopedia to Byleth. So predictable. So earnest. Claude envied them, simplicity in such a time.

Despite himself, a wave of homesickness washed over him.

"Hilda," he called, and the rest of them jumped. He fought back a smile as he categorized reactions. "A moment, please."

She skipped over towards him.

" _I_ heard you had to be saved, Claude," she said, not wasting time. For once. "By a beautiful mercenary."

"Gossiping already, Hilda?" The smile he spared her was brief, one that didn't expose teeth. "You'll meet her soon."

"Ooh." Hilda was already looking back into the classroom, watching Marianne with wide eyes. More cataloging. Her eyes glazed.

He would have her attention for maybe five minutes.

"I have some information for your brother, if you would like to write him," he told her.

"Well, I have to," Hilda sighed. "I would never hear the end of it if I didn't. You, giving with secrets?"

"Oh, it's not a secret," he said lightly. "Margrave Edmund is making his first real act in his new position. You'll hear from him eventually."

Too predictable. Hilda's eyes widened, her shoulders raising half an inch.

"Is that so," she said.

"Yep." That's all he would give her... until she said something. A larva on a fish hook.

They both stared at Marianne, lost and forlorn, standing where Hilda had left her. Claude often found her on the docks of the fishing pond without a pole, the greenhouse without seeds. Only in the Cathedral did she look like she belonged, with clasped hands and trembling lips.

He watched her die, once.

It was the first time he saw a vision other than himself, not his own pulse stuttering to a halt.

It made his knuckles turn white at just the thought, even though he barely knew Marianne, and her adoptive father was the latest to be used for his plans regardless. Claude forced himself to relax. He couldn't alarm Hilda, not when they were both looking at her like this.

Not when it hurt Hilda that Marianne was more interested in her shoes than Hilda herself.

Hilda swallowed. "Something about the wealth he stumbled upon, I imagine?"

_Oh, Hilda._ She revealed so much, so quickly, even for a girl with her own secrets and affected disinterest.

"Oh, yes, fertile land that doubled harvest yield beyond what was expected and veins of gold to boot," Claude agreed. "Gloucester is livid."

Hilda's moment of weakness had already made its exit. A small smirk crossed her face as those same eyes leveled on Lorenz.

"Just so you know, the good Margrave is sending craftsmen to Fodlan's Locket," Claude continued. "To assist in repairing the damage from the Almyran invasion."

He did not mention Nader. Bolstering her brother in front of her would have to come after sending the letter. Hilda was far too clever for such an on-the-nose scheme.

Hilda's eyes landed back on Marianne. "I assume Holst does not know?"

"I imagine not," Claude agreed. "The Edmund house was recently established, after all. It is to be a first gesture of good faith. I'm not even sure our Marianne knows."

Hilda's eyes darkened at the word _our_ , but otherwise her face did not so much as flicker. Her form was perfect, after all, when she put her mind to it.

Hilda made a noncommittal noise. "Can I go back now?"

Claude spread his hands in an _by all means_ kind of gesture, and Hilda strode back inside. Hilda could handle him, could handle the push and pull of his words. But Marianne...

She now had his pendant, one he had dropped in a deliberate cacophony outside her door. He wondered if she had it on her person now, or, more likely, if she put it in the safest place she could possibly think of. He did not know Marianne, not the core of her secrets, but he did know her pain, so palpable he could almost reach out and touch it.

He knew of the knife she held above her heart, right before he dropped the pendant.

The necklace, his late grandmother's, had a story of its own that he extracted from his grandfather with several visits and a few bottles of wine. It was simple, considering the tendencies of the nobility, but not surprising when considering the Alliance. It was a moving story, to be sure, but unfortunately, it was all too common.

Claude's lip soured at the thought. How many mothers had been lost after their children?

It was another notch. Another reason to support his dreams. The coincidence that he now used such a story on Marianne was not lost on him.

Claude crossed his arms and waited outside the room, not joining the others. From what Manuela told him, Byleth should be meeting with each of the three leaders. He knew Edelgard was pacing in the Entrance Hall, wanting to run into the professor first. She stank of desperation. Dimitri wasn't much better, but he at least had the grace to wait in the same area as Claude. This young woman, who had the rare honor of having nothing Claude could discern from her expressions, possessed a gift of time. He knew it. The way she appeared in front of Edelgard signaled one that could see what was never meant to be seen.

Claude angled his head to the sky, away from the setting sun. He imagined the stars in the blue sky's place, and one that was so bright it took away from the North Star. He watched, and he waited.

Waited for this new professor to arrive.

* * *

_Tiana,_

_Your son has assured me that he will ensure any letter I write will reach you through him. I wish I had such reassurances for the last two decades, but I must take solace in this pen and parchment now. How many times have I written for no response, to send a bird to a destination that proved to be false. Even minor assurances allow me to write with zeal now. How pathetic I've become in my old age._

_Your brother is dead. He died in an accident on route to a gathering for merchant trade. We lost multiple merchants, along with Godfrey, and I suspect treachery on our own soil. I wish we had your expertise now, my daughter, as you always reached with a soft heart and strong touch for our people. Our enemies were nothing in the face of our ferocity._

_Ah, listen to me babble about politics. My daughter, it was my hope you could forge your own path, with your own two hands. I always imagined, I admit, that it would be with the Alliance under your rule. That Fodlan could not be a home for you will always be my greatest regret. I admit that Claude is not anywhere near what I expected, but I do see your ferocity in him. He has been to two roundtable meetings with me, and he suffers no fools, just like you. I hope you are proud of him. I hope your son is what the Alliance has been waiting for._

_I am not blind, Tiana, and I believe I know the full course of your secrets. Worry not, I will not address them. Perhaps this is fate: that a child of two countries will create a new Alliance. The thought of treason does terrify me like it never has before; I do not dare to reveal my thoughts even in a letter to you, protected from your son. This is for your safety as well as mine, for even for your disappearance, you are every much still my daughter._

_It is my hope that you will reply. It is my hope that I can understand what you have done one day. I am close, I believe, but your insight will be valued at such a time now. More, I know now that your response is close at hand. My heart is full and heavy at the same time. There is much I wish to tell you, but I must settle for closing this letter as such._

_Enclosed is a pendant from your grandmother. We lost her during the Harpstring moon, several years back. It pained me I could not inform you of her passing; you two were close during your time at home. We all miss you, Tiana, there is not a single soul in Deridru who does not mention you from time to time. Our hearts are with you, always._

_With love,_

_Duke Godfrey von Riegan I_


	3. Chapter 2

Claude only had to look at his grandmother's pendant once to grasp its importance.

Sentimentality had no place in Almyra. It was beaten out of children at a young age, mostly from each other instead of anyone of authority, but it was nonetheless. But with Claude's gaze always on the horizon, he knew how it held influence. It shaped his dreams, after all, gave him an untredded path to follow.

When he arrived in Derdriu for the first time, with a small league of unidentifiable soldiers except for the bronze of their skin to meet the answering entourage, which got raised eyebrows and hands angled towards swords in their belts. Naturally, this reaction paled in comparison when Claude announced he was the son of Tiana von Riegan, the lost daughter of the sovereign Duke. Claude wondered if they would execute him on the spot, with the open hostility that crested like heat waves, but he knew his grandfather was just beyond the doors. Claude knew because it was this day, a lifetime ago, that Tiana went missing.

Sentimentality, indeed.

As the soldiers threatened him with drawn swords and lances, Claude issued a silent command to for his own men to keep at ease. It was not an easy order to follow, he knew. These men were already itching for a fight. It would be hard enough to disappear back to Almyra undetected, once Claude was deemed to be safe.

The Duke boomed through the gates of the city, and Claude relaxed. Already, he could see his mother in the slope of his nose, the strong jaw, the sharp eyes. The latter, in particular, Claude knew well. It was like looking into his own reflection.

He stopped the instant he took in Claude. Claude issued that same smile, the one that curved his face naturally but stopped just short of his eyes. He scanned his grandfather for weaknesses – hunch in the back, slight limp in the lower right leg – and strengths – just about everything else, his constitution fit an ox - before letting the smile fall from his face and locking gazes with this man.

"Those eyes," Duke Godfrey breathed.

_Gotcha._

Just in case, though... "Tiana von Riegan went missing almost two decades ago to this day," he said, with all the bravado of the prodigal son returning home. "It is true. I am her son."

It was not an exaggeration to say he was welcomed with open arms.

The suspicion, of course, came full force at dinner, after he sent his men away, and his grandfather had time to scrutinize him.

Claude wished he could say he was used to the gaze that seemed to comb over him, every inch. Those same green eyes that passed from generation to generation, ones that were in his possession. His grandfather now used to detect everything other, everything different. Almyra knew without looking at him that he was different from them, they knew it like they knew the sky was blue, the deserts were dry, and battle was in their blood as much as family and water. It was a different experience to feel his secrets plucked from his skin.

He hated it.

"Where is your mother now?"

Claude's smile turned sharp.

"I cannot say, unfortunately. Apologies."

Even if his bright, fierce mother hadn't extracted a promise from him before he left, he wouldn't say a word to the Duke of the Alliance, who now stared at him like he was an exotic animal rather than his grandson.

To Claude's surprise, he didn't fight it. Instead, he stood up, his meal only half-finished. It was rather lavish, Claude knew, for Fodlan standards. But the rabbit served was little more than sinew and bone, starved in an unforgiving land. Derdriu seemed to be much the same: gold and blue tapestries hanging in between large mosaic windows, offering a view of the outside. It was beautiful, but an empty sort of beautiful. A promise unkept.

Claude already vastly preferred the outside. Merchants struggled to sell their wares in their worn down stalls, only a few planks of erected wood to protect them from hungry and impatient customers. The cobblestone roads paved the way towards them, and that was something Claude could appreciate. Their cause was welcome, even though there was hardship. Their presence was welcome.

His grandfather's voice snapped him from his thoughts. "Follow me."

Claude tensed. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't dismissed his battalion so soon, and he wouldn't have if Almyra's location wasn't something to be held back. But he had little choice.

Something in the Duke's voice softened. Claude followed, still wary, but his grandfather's voice was so wistful. They were headed to a room down the hallway. "I wonder if I can show you something."

He would not allow Claude into his room. Claude only caught glimpses of curtain canopies and ornate nightstands. But when he emerged with the pendant perched between his hands, holding it like a baby bird not yet ready to fly, Claude accepted it without hesitation.

* * *

The monastery was Claude's kind of place, at least in theory.

Nooks and crannies. Secrets in plain sight. Attracted all kinds of individuals who could help him achieve his dreams. But he didn't trust Rhea, _couldn't_ trust her, and that provided all kinds of setbacks. He had to operate with his cards close to his chest. Things were achieved much slower than he liked.

Another, admittedly minor, annoyance was that it was basically impossible to find anyone without wasting a bunch of time.

After about a week of searching the most obvious places for a new professor - library, Knight's Hall, other teacher's rooms, the classroom - he finally noticed a fishing pole tucked in the corner of Jeralt's room. _Huh._ Was it really something so austere, so simple?

He indeed found her at the lake, sitting on the pier with the pole planted between her legs. There was a plain white bucket next to her, and Claude could tell it was a successful day. A long, silver tail, had to be a Queen Loach, jutted out of the pail. It had to be full; that particular fish wasn't _that_ big. Claude wondered if she just had a lucky haul, or if she was one of those ones with annoying talent at sitting still and awaiting with a watchful eye.

Claude approached her, stopping just at the end of the pier. Naturally, Byleth turned and caught his eye, her gaze as smooth and motionless as the pond.

"Teach," he said easily. "Your father told me I'd find you here."

Not the truth, but not a lie either. Byleth continued to look at him, her infrequent blinks the only thing telling him she hadn't turned to stone. How would this woman command an entire class, teaching them to defend, to strike, to kill? Claude was a fan of the wait-and-see approach, but curiosity nipped at his heels like one of the cats that frequented the dining hall.

He just wished he knew why he was drawn to her the way he was. All he knew was that it was something in her eyes, something that rushed with mystery and effervescence and... familiarity?

Claude's heart squeezed.

He gestured next to her, hoping the movement prevented anything too forward from reaching his face. "Mind if I take a seat?"

Not so much as a flicker in her expression. Claude waited.

Finally, she scooted to the left side of the pier, hauling the bucket behind her. "By all means."

Claude settled next to her, one leg outstretched and the other folded to his chest. He rested his arm on his knee as they looked out on the water.

"Has fishing always been a hobby of yours?"

Byleth tilted her head, thinking. Claude marveled at how action molded her thoughts more than her own feelings, or at least this never betrayed them. "I think so," she said at last. "My father loves it."

A peculiar answer. Claude couldn't stop a slow grin, one she couldn't see with them both looking at the water. He now had threads to pull, no matter how scarce and thin they seemed to be.

"You 'think so?'" he teased her. "That's what we call a strange answer, Teach."

"It's my answer, nonetheless." Byleth picked up the bucket with one arm, as if gesturing. "Raphael should be happy. A lot of this is going to the dining hall."

"Ingrid, too," he said. He noticed how un-knightly that girl could be once you gave her a fork and a plateful of food.

"Good point. Seteth mentioned Flayn, as well."

He eyed that bucket. "Perhaps that's not enough, then."

Byleth didn't laugh, but Claude thought he could detect a shift in her eyes, not unlike a ripple of sunlight across a foam-topped wave. And maybe that was all it was; a trick of the light, but the pond was too still, the sun too early in the sky.

"No," Byleth said. "Perhaps not."

Maybe it was that thought that cast her fishing line back into the water. It was time to create his own thread in the conversation. "You haven't happened to see a necklace lying around somewhere, have you?"

Byleth frowned. It was the most visceral reaction he got out of her yet.

"A necklace?"

"A pendant," he clarified. "I think I dropped it somewhere."

She said nothing, but he got her thinking. He could tell that much.

"I'm still getting to know the rest of the class," Claude said slowly, as if he were weighing each word. "And I have boundaries, as the heir to the Alliance dukedom. But you're their teacher. If you could ask around, I would be grateful."

Byleth nodded. "Sure."

"Thank you."

They remained quietly at the pier. Byleth's line sank after a few minutes of silence, and she caught another fish, a carp. Its dirty gold scales reflected rainbow in the sunlight, and it reminded Claude of the barrels of oil Almyran ships carried for fire attacks.

She dropped the fish in the bucket, which Claude now realized contained ice. The fish continued to beat its tail against the side of the bucket, each thrash thudding less and less, until it too was still. Byleth stood.

"You are the class leader," Byleth said at last. "Not just the heir."

Claude sat still.

"You should be able to interact with your fellow classmates," she continued. "It's expected, even. You can maintain your air of mystery while doing so."

He turned to look at her in the eye. He was paying attention, and he saw the dividends: her eyes were not still at all. They rippled with the light, echoing the world around her, instead of what lay inside. She reacted to everything, still as a fishing rod, but her reactions reflected like fish scales, like tidal pools, like light in shifting waters.

She was just like him, in a way. This knowledge made him swallow.

"I'll keep that in mind," he managed to say.

Byleth dipped her head, obviously satisfied by his answer. "In the meantime, I'll ask around."

He forced that same smile, sharp but not focused. "Much obliged, Teach."

Byleth wrapped the line around her pole and picked up the bucket by its handle. And then she was gone, making cool and collected strides towards the stairs up to the veranda of the dining hall.

He glanced out at the horizon for several moments before getting to his feet. He'd head to the library, he thought, perhaps heckle Tomas for more answers about the Heroes' Relics and the 10 Elites. He wondered if Byleth would make good on her word, despite her misplaced lecture. Approaching Marianne would be a mistake on his part. She had to come to him.

For all of his scheming, his general distrust, his ambitions, watching someone else die by her own hand was a vision he never wanted to have again.

If he wasn't careful, he still could play it perfectly in his mind.

He could easily justify it as a political move. Margrave Edmund had become an important political piece in a short amount of time, providing assistance to Fodlan's Locket, but not troops. This forced Holst and Goneril's attention inward, away from Almyra, and rebuilding. It was a delicate line Claude was toeing, and the loss of Marianne could be devastating for the Margrave.

If he was being honest, though...

Claude stood. He turned his eye toward the dining hall upstairs, even though the professor was long gone. Dropping the pendant outside Marianne's door saved her life for the time being, but how long would that be the case?

And he still had plenty of questions about their new professor.

* * *

Their first test, the mock battle between houses, was too easy.

It was more of a showcase for the professors, rather than the students. The full class wasn't on the field, they held blunted weapons and wooden swords, and it was a small field with very little room for maneuvering and tactics. The real moment Claude was looking for was the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

And of course, the way that Edelgard and Dimitri hyper-fixated on something so small was _hilarious_.

Not that he didn't want to win, but this wasn't war. Not the kind he knew, that could happen on the streets or his own home. Regardless, this was a good opportunity.

He'd learn a lot about Byleth, for one.

She took his stage voice about poisoning the enemy and stomach troubles with grace, even coming back with dry comebacks and a teasing "if you insist." When the other house leaders joined them, it was all Claude could do to not burst out laughing.

He felt light. He had not seen himself - or anyone in his house, really - die since Byleth arrived at the monastery. The darker edges of his mind reeled with empty thoughts, mostly what-ifs. And that was a question Claude only used when coming up with schemes.

What-ifs were useless in terms of the unknown.

During the battle though, he could have sworn he stopped breathing several times.

Lorenz, of course, charged headfirst into the fray, insulting Claude's leadership all the while. Claude cursed as he ran forward, but before he could shout a command for Ignatz to cover him, Byleth beat him to it.

And Byleth herself fought like a demon against the bandits from earlier, but that was under the watchful eye of Jeralt. And she fought for her life with strangers, one she had no mind of teaching. That Byleth fought single-mindedly, without coordination. But now...

It was some kind of dance, the way she led the Golden Deer into battle. Her wooden sword flew in expert strikes around her body. Even Hilda stopped to watch, eyes wide. When Byleth barked a command in her direction, Hilda listened without so much of a whine.

_Incredible._

She teased Edelgard into attacking, while commanding most of the assault on Dimitri. Challenging two houses at once?

"You sure about that, Teach?" he called, nocking another felt-tipped arrow and firing at Ferdinand.

She looked at him from profile, open for attack in the middle of the field. One movement from her, and she'd be in the forest. "Trust me."

Claude froze.

The words burrowed into his brain like termites. His line of sight blurred, like his visions of the future, but this was different. It was like Byleth's voice echoed inside, all in different connotations and experiences and situations, but the words remained the same.

_Trust me._

Claude fired another arrow towards Ferdinand, and Hilda forced him to retreat with a powerful swing of her wooden axe.

"Double back!" Byleth called.

Ignatz and Ashe were exchanging arrows, with Lorenz advancing. Hilda retreated as Hubert's magic shattered the air.

Then Claude saw it: that spiked barrier that protected Edelgard. It was a strategic maneuver to use it for defense, but it also slowed her down: without Ferdinand, her mages were wide open.

While Edelgard scrambled for positioning, Byleth led the Golden Deer against Dimitri's forces.

_Bold. Daring. Smart._ Byleth was every bit a mercenary, but she was also more. It took all of Claude's concentration to focus on the battle, and not her.

_Who are you?_

When Jeralt announced the winner of the mock battle, Claude let out an exhale he had been holding. Victory was sweet, as always, but his eyes were on Byleth, standing where Hanneman was positioned on the map. She looked regal. Fierce. Striking. Her dark eyes flickered towards him, her blue hair shining in the sunlight, and Claude swallowed.

"Time to head back, Teach," he called. "Well fought."

She stared at him for a moment, head tilted ever so slightly. As usual, those eyes gave nothing away. Then she gave a single nod and stepped off the terrace. Like leading the disjointed, dysfunctional family dynamic that makes up the Golden Deer was just routine to her. Claude knew how difficult that actually was, from leading this class and navigating the politics of the Alliance, something he had to learn, grasp, and basically master since the year before, arriving for the first time in Fodlan.

He studied Byleth, who gave no indication of all the pairs of eyes on her. Even Lorenz was quiet, humbled by his earlier charge.

He would talk to Byleth when they returned to the monastery, he decided. Victory needed to settle over the lot of them first.

* * *

When the chefs packed up for the night and the Dining Hall was left virtually empty, Claude cooked their celebratory meal.

He always loved doing it, especially in Almyra. It was an unusual interest for someone like him, and it was another point other kids used to target him with. He learned to never do it around them, hiding it along with so much of himself. He was equal parts nobility and coward, combatant and sheltered. Still, his mother's servants encouraged the habit, until he learned to cook when it was dark.

He endured ribbing from his mother, who never cooked, and his father, who was too far removed from the mundane. That, he could deal with. The tale he told Hilda about being tied to a horse was definitely the truth. He knew they tried to make him stronger, have a thicker skin just so he would survive.

They never imagined that idea would ever bring him out here, in Fodlan, the place his mother fled for love.

Claude continued the practice in Derdriu, where he had to learn Fodlanese cooking instead of Almyran. He still kept the spices from the latter, mixing the two together. Balancing the line between not giving away his heritage and not losing it in himself was a tricky balance.

"Alright guys," he called, shredding the aged cheese he had stolen from the larder before the mock battle. "Food's ready."

"Food!" Raphael crowed, dashing over to the counter space. No one dared intercept him lest they be bowled over, but Claude appreciated his enthusiasm nonetheless.

Leonie filled up her plate next, followed by Ignatz and Hilda. Lysithea sniffed at the plate Claude made for her, which he sweetened with coconut flavors, before giving him a short nod that clearly announced _this will do._ He could just imagine her tone of voice when she said it.

"Lorenz," he called. "Would you just get a plate? Teach is waiting until everyone has one."

The only indication he took Byleth aback with his observation was a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes - and the rest of her face, for that matter - remained smooth and impassive.

"Such buffoonery among our class should not be rewarded," Lorenz huffed. "I'm surprised at all of you."

"Then, why are you here?" Leonie said around a mouthful of food.

The withering glare he gave her made the entire room roar with laughter; Raphael was naturally the loudest. Even Claude laughed from deep within his belly near the food station, where Byleth was getting her meal.

She looked over at the lot of them, her eyes pensive. Claude imagined she was somewhat amused, even if she didn't show it.

"Relax, Lorenz," he said. "I got permission from the staff first."

Lorenz hesitated. "You? Ask for _permission_?"

"I know. What a revelation." Claude exaggerated a yawn. "Sit down and eat, will you? I'm not eating either, not until everyone has a plate."

Byleth stared at him, her head tilted just by a margin.

Lorenz finally ambled over, mumbling under his breath. "This is the most nobility I've seen from you yet, Claude," he said at last.

"I'm full of surprises."

"It is not enough," Lorenz said simply. "You are heir to our Alliance. It must be in your very countenance. One wrong step, and we will fall."

Claude's mouth pulled at the corners. They both watched him sit next to Marianne and Hilda, with Lysithea poking at her food opposite them. Claude watched as she gave her food a grave nod, and dug in. He sighed with relief.

"She's the pickiest one," he said out of nowhere.

Byleth looked at him. "Pardon?"

"Lysithea. She only likes sweet things. Getting her to eat vegetables is a feat."

Byleth turned her gaze back to the class. "I suppose you won't eat until I do," she said at last.

His smile was slight. "Guilty as charged."

She started eating, forkful after forkful, and Claude finally sat down behind the counter and started to eat himself. It was alright. Not the best thing he's ever made. Cooking was a lot like mixing poisons to him, and he liked to get it just right. The spices too muted, the meat a little gritty, but that wasn't his fault. Maybe he added too much coconut? Maybe...

"It bothers you," Byleth said suddenly, between bites. "What Lorenz said."

"Naw, Teach, he says things like that all the time," Claude said, but his heart began to pelt a steady rhythm in his chest. "Nobility is everything to him. Stature, rules, etiquette, the whole shebang."

Byleth said nothing. He watched as she pulled in her lips. He wondered if this was her version of smiling, or an almost-smile. Claude wanted to know if he could pull the real one out, if that was something possible for her.

He would take her looking over his class, for the time being.

"By the way, did you?" Byleth turned to him.

"Did I what?" he said, poking at the meal. The cheese, like he thought it would, made the meal passable. All the things worth having, he took for himself. Lorenz would learn that.

"Did you ask for permission?"

Claude put down his fork. He opened his mouth to say one thing, but it died on his tongue. The overhead light from the dining hall danced in her eyes.

"Come on, Teach," he said at last. "What do you take me for?"

She looked away, but he could have sworn he saw her lips twitch.

* * *

_Mama,_

_Pardon the encryption. I know, I know, it takes too long, and it's annoying, but I'm telling you, the second-in-command to the Archbishop reads_ _everything._ _I had to resort to_ pigeon _to get this message to you, AND I had to send it independently. If you don't get this letter, you'll know I'm taking our promise very seriously._

_My grandfather - your father, I guess I should say -is beginning to hold roundtable meetings, and he told me I can start attending them. I can tell you there's no immediate threat to Almyra: Holst was injured during the battle with Nader, and your idea to pull back reinforcements and leave just enough for the border worked. Fodlan's Locket is wary, but not sending more troops. The new Margrave has none to spare, but Holst will fully recover soon, and you know he's worth an army. Judith will be bringing troops from Daphnel. It's a stalemate, and for now, it needs to remain so._

_As for what you're waiting for me to say, you're right. There's no room in Fodlan for people like us, and that needs to change. I have plans - plans I'm not going to detail in a letter - because Father can't know. I need to learn the ins and outs of the Alliance like a duke would._

_As for the Duke himself, I think he suspects. He knows you've ran, Mama, and there aren't many places you could have gone. And you know what I look like,_ who _I look like. I've told him nothing, just as I promised, but that's reality. He gave me something to send you, but I have to hold on to it until I find a safer method of communication with you. And if you don't get this letter... well, that's that._

_Take care,_

_Claude_

Claude did not have a chance to put the pen down. Instead, his vision washed red.

He heard people screaming. Javelins and arrows sailed through the air, followed by shocks of blood that bloomed like macabre flowers. He was at Garreg Mach still, he realized, he was fighting... and everyone near him was dying. He recognized villager homes, with weaving dirt roads, not unlike Remire, and they were burning. He watched as mothers hurried with crying children, trying to hide in back alleys and shadows. He saw the men's tortured faces, unarmed. All were crushed under the impeding army, that poured through the walls a collapsing sand dune. He scanned their faces, trying and hoping not to find a familiar one.

There was.

He squeezed the arc of his bow until his knuckles cracked, and tried to force a scream out of his throat, but none would come. It never could.

When he came back into himself, he gasped. He had fallen out of his chair, landing on a couple of books he borrowed from the library, now crumpled on the floor. His inkwell had been knocked over by the impact and dripped steadily down from the desk, down the pale wood, and onto the floor.

_Seteth is going to kill me,_ he thought ironically, nonsensically, as the ink splattered on the spine of a book on Adrestia.

He put his face in his hands. His skin slid with a thin layer of sweat; his hands felt cold and clammy. Claude never had a vision like this one. Never like this.

Growing up, it was always himself, and that he always changed. He knew what to change. When he came to Garreg Mach, the only person he saw die was Marianne, in her room with a dagger poised over her throat. He dropped the pendant to distract her, to make her question, and it worked too. She was still alive.

But this...?

How could he stop _this_?

Claude realized he was still crumpled on the floor. With shuddering breaths, he pulled himself up and leaned against his bed frame, closing his eyes. He still saw blood. He could almost smell it. And he knew that face. He knew it all too well.

_Byleth._


End file.
